Modern Revolution
by DarthMomo
Summary: "Huh? Oh, America it's you- er, I mean I wasn't expecting you," England said as entered the Chinese Buffet. Well, America's in town, and England is almost glad he is- Not that he likes America or anything! Well... maybe...


**This is an RP that Suki and Momo collaborated together to make. Suki rp'd as America, and Momo rp'd as England.  
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**We hope you enjoy :D**

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><p>"Huh? Oh, America it's you- er, I mean I wasn't expecting you," England said as entered the Chinese Buffet. He had recieved an invitation writen so sloppy that he couldn't make out the name.<p>

"ENGLAAAAND~!" America shouted as he ran over loudly and moronic as ever. "I'm so happy you could make iiit~" His stomach growled and he said," I was getting hungry." He frowned at this, emphasized by another growl.

Of course he made such a racket in in the restaurant and came bounding over to him. England pushed his brother away, hoping for just a little personal space. "I was giving a break to China, since English isn't his first language, but can't you spell 'buffet' right?" He sighed as his stomach growled as well. "Let's eat."

America quickly sat down and sighed with a light smile. "Well I thought you spell it like 'buffey', you know, like it sounds?" With a sigh he enthusiastically said," Yes, let's eat!"

England walked over to the buffet after they had their booth picked out and started filling a plate. Showing little interest, he asked," So how are you?" He told himself that he was only still here because he had already walked in the restaurant when he realized it was America waiting for him.

"You mean, besides being hungry?" America laughed. He continued with a shrug," Nothing really amazing actually, you?"

"The same," he replied, taking a pair of tongs and grabbing some sweet and hot chicken. He rolled his eyes as he saw America go straight for the chinese doughnuts. "If it isn't hamburgers its doughnuts," He muttered. Oh well, it wasn't like he took care of America for hundreds of years-Ugh, why did he have to think of American Revolution now...? He sighed and tried to ignore this nettlesome thought.

America laughed to himself as he placed a heaping amount of the delectable pastries upon his plate, his smile growing wider with each one. "Hmm, I always loved these things so much~" He sang to himself. "Hey England, do you want one as well?" he turned around to look at his friend, smiling brightly as he held his large plate with both hands, the pastries piled almost high enough to hide his face.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure," He quickly stuttered over. Only after a pastry was placed on his plate did he relize what he had agreed to. At least it was only a doughnut and he hadn't approved some hairbrained plan. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander in public he reminded himself, especially with America around. Who knew where that would land him? He smiled tenuously, still trying to leave behind the remnant thoughts lingering on the revolution.

America smiled as he watched his friend take one of the lovely foods, he quickly stealing back the grabbers to take a few more. Finding he had no more free room on his plate however, America just decided to shove them, almost three, into his hungry mouth, chewing loudly and happily. "I'm so happy you could come, England~!" America sang almost to himself as he finished his amazing few bites, turning to the other country. "Nobody else wanted to come, so I got sad..." He sighed lightly, but quickly regaining his large smile.

America, though almost unable to breathe or speak, was happy, each doughnut almost like a glistening little pastry of absolute happiness as he gorged them down his throat. "Hey England, you gotta try this kind!" he waved a small white iced pastry above his head to the other country, earning some stares by bystanders at other tables. "This one is grape-jelly filled!" He laughed and continued to wave the doughnut to ensure that his mortofied friend saw it, and then quickly plopped it in his hungry mouth, chewing hastily.

"You git, just grab some now, and get seconds. You're an embarrassment!" England sat down with a face palm. America and his antics, how did a country last being that stupid? How did a country like that overthrow- England face planted the table and groaned.

America turned his pouting eyes at the other country, sticking out his tongue. "I'm not an embarrassment, I just assert myself more than you!" He smiled lightly as he turned back to look at all the glorious food, picking up more regardless that his plate was already hopelessly full.

"You're a lost cause," England muttered darkly to himself, head still laying on the table. He didn't feel like getting up, it seemed like a lot of work with a headache threatening to take hold. As America came (finally...) to the table he righted himself and tried to act like nothing was bothering him. Luckily with America being the one he was trying to fool, it should be pretty easy.

America bit happily into the small dinner roll he had grabbed, loving the light taste of butter on his tongue. Hmm, it was just so delicious. He sat happily at the table and looked at England, his mouth filled with bread. "What's wrong England?" he tried to ask, the food in his mouth muffling the sound and slurring the words. He was curious at why his friend simply wasn't eating.

"How many times have I told you to not talk with food in your- ah never mind," England grumbled. He picked up his fork and began to poke at the food on his plate. HOPEFULLY he had diverted his brother's attention with the light reprimand, though he knew better. America was stubborn, and he knew wasn't putting on a very convincing act of 'eating' as he couldn't even bring himself to get the food to his mouth.

"Oh come on brother, what's wrong?" America laughed before shoving another roll in his mouth, tilting his head lightly as he watched the other country eat, though he really couldn't call what he was doing eating. It appeared more like he was playing with his food, the fork poking at it every now and again. America chuckled and smiled, amused.

England sighed and groaned," Nothing's wrong, Alfred." He forced some food into his mouth. For some reason, he had a feeling that the other wouldn't let it go. He rubbed his temples, aggravated, then decided to end the annoyance. "Actually, you. That's what's wrong." Well that felt better for about three seconds, then he remembered the bloody revolution and brusquely slammed the fork down with a groan.

America blinked and set the roll down on the plate that he was about to take a chunk out of. He frowned lightly as he stared at England. "M-Me? What did I do?" The naive country looked down at his plate. Had he eaten something wrong? Did he not share with his brother when he was supposed to? What had he done?

England considered the classic 'you were born- well more like found-' but instead went for," N-nothing, th-that- I didn't- well-." He cut himself off and ran a hand through his hair with a sore smile. What was worse, being haunted by a horrible event, or feeling guilty for the person that caused this once you saw their face saddened by your words? "Ya' know, I could really go for a nice cold beer, let's hit a pub," he suggested trying to gloss over the awkward, stumbling mess that had been his first try at diffusing the situation. At least the second time he hadn't stammered.

America frowed as he stared at England. "England..." he tried to start, tilting his head in an even greater curiosity at his brother. Something was up. America could at least tell that much, but anymore detail than that, he wasn't sure. England was acting very peculiar. "..." he sighed softly.

"H-here, I got the bill," he said as he rummaged through his pocket for some bills. Knowing America, he probably hadn't bothered to convert his US dollars into pounds anyways. Oh god he felt awful right now. He was plagued by their separation and making a total jerkass out of himself.

America continued to stare at England, even more so worried that he wasn't responding to his question. "Arthur..." he sighed, trying to reach his hand out to lightly grab at his brother's sleeve. "...What's wrong?..."

"Oh, it's uh, nothing. Just been having some stressful days at work." Stressful was the only true part of the whole statement, though it was very true. Maybe that made up for it. "Like I said, let's go to a pub," he repeated. He really needed to drown his sorrows... "Have you ever been to the Winchester? Great pub, n' its got a fine pinball machine." PLEASE adhd save him.

America blinked once, swallowing his last mouthful of food before the man had a smile grace his features. "A pinball machine?~" He almost childishly sang-spoke. "That sounds really cool! Let's go then!" He waved over for the check, and quickly a waitress came. America smiled happily again and reached to get his wallet, and with an almost prideful look, appeared that he was going to pay for the whole thing himself, well, that was until that he realized his wallet was completely empty. "..." he laughed nervously.

"Don't worry, I already said I got the bill," England assured him, pulling out his own wallet and pulling out the correct amount of cash. "Though I should of just left you to do dishes. C'mon, its just north of here," He said, leading the man out of the restaurant and to the pub he had just mentioned. He subconsciously kept distance between them as they walked down the street, trying to keep from looking how absolutely dreadful he felt.

America was himself the entire way there, rambling on about a new plan for the next world meeting, whereas he (of course) would be the leader and hero, making everybody else do any sort of work, and he'd get all the 'fame'. After a few minutes of silence from the other, America's voice started to die down in fervency and in loudness. "...Hey, England, come on," He spoke with a smile, silly looking expression as he made it seem normally, and tugged on the other man's sleeve. "What's wrong?"

Pulling away, England sighed," It's not anything you can help." _you're what caused it_. By the time he got to the Winchester, he was going to need kegs of Ale. "It's not even that big of a deal. Just forget about it." _Please_. Why did he always have to think more and more on the subject once he started? England hated remembering the American Revolution and 4th of July be damned! He had done so much for him and... He gave a sigh of relief as the pub came into view, fruitlessly trying to shake away his melancholy thoughts.

America had a small look of worry, but quickly sighed and shrugged it off. Eh. Maybe he was just having some sort of bad day. With that thought out of his narrow and childish mind, the country quickly walked to the glass doors, his fist around the knob. He opened them quickly and was about to nearly jog inside, when he realized again of his friend behind him. With a small smile, he backed again out of the doorway, holding open the door to allow the other to walk into the pub first, showing a rare case of genuine manners and politeness.

"Th-thanks," England quickly said, he was a gentleman after all, a little off guard since he wasn't expecting the nice gesture. Walking into the place slowly and heading towards the bar, he turned and said," The pinball machine's over there. I'll go get some ale, want anything in particular?" Remembering America didn't have any money, he handed America a few coins he fished out of his pockets. "Here's a few quid." Distance. That was the key to not blowing up in America's face.

America looked at the offered currency and smiled, taking them from the other country's hand.

"Uhh, I'll just have a soda, thanks," America smiled widely, as if he was a small child, and quickly bounded off to the said pinball machine, almost knocking over another person who was just finished playing and losing to it. The young country grinned and leaned over the large hunk of metal and pieces, his eyes roaming over the fine points, junctures, and points to the entire layout. Then, paying absolutely no regard to what he had only just witness about it at all, the man pushed in a coin, and started randomly messing with the levers. Hey, maybe if he just hit them a lot, then there would be no chance that the little metal ball would be able to get past them, right? America smiled at his seemingly well thought out plan, his mind completely enraptured in the pinball machine.

He left America to the pinball machine, hoping he wouldn't treat the sterling like tokens. Knowing America, he probably would, and would jam all of them in by the time England returned from getting their drinks. Oh well, it didn't truly matter. Reaching the counter, He leaned against it and asked," What's the strongest you got?" It was his standard order here. He knew what the strongest alcohol they owned was, but the owners knew exactly what to give him when he asked that. He had ordered that way here for as long as he remembered, which considering they were celebrating their 50th anniversary soon, meant for a little less than 50 years.

"Here ya' go son," The old man said as he put a mug of what was definitely not ale in front of him.

"Thanks, and a soda for my friend," He said, getting out some pounds sterling as the man went to retrieve a soda. With a sigh he muttered,"Man, I'm paying for everything."

America cried out loudly with a smile when he seemed to hit something that got him a LOT of points, the country suddenly feeling very much proud of himself. He laughed and continued with his game, temporarily forgetting about his friend sitting at the bar, his simple mind on the metal ball that was wildly hitting around the glassed off case.

"OH YAH!" he yelled happily to himself, throwing a fist in the air when the ball hit another thing, making the machine light up with lights and sounds, making the man grow more and more excited. He continued his game, a small grin on his features.

Handing away the money, England grabbed their drinks and took a step towards the pinball machine, then halted. Seeing America be _so_ happy while he was miserable made him feel even worse. Did America enjoy being 'free from him' so much that life was just better for him all around? He never seemed down, and when he was, it was over quick. England on the other hand... Well, he kind of, maybe, could say, that he missed America terribly. He always pushed him away after the political upheaval that America so fondly celebrated every year, but he didn't quite mean to. Well, maybe he did, and he felt foolish in hoping that America would push passed that barrier. Like he even realized how much hell he put England through... "I think I'm going to need a second one right away," He said to the bartender, sitting down on a stool.

America bit on his lip lightly as he continued to hit that small metal ball again and again with the levers, sending it spiraling around the machine, making lights and sounds go off like crazy. He let out small noises of joy when they all started to dim, his score proudly appearing on the screen of the machine. Wow, America couldn't even count that high! Well, maybe that wasn't the best way to put it. One way or another, the country continued his childish rampaging until all his coins were gone, and his pockets were again empty. After a short sigh, the man turned back around to enjoy the company of his friend, who still seemed down in the dumps. Though completely confused why England would feel so bad, America decided not to voice his concerns; he didn't want to seem rude at all.

England muttered under his breath about all the things he hated about America as he set down his second glass, now completely empty. "I'll take another," He said, handing over £5. "Keep the change." He rested his head down, using one arm for support and the other to hold onto his empty glass. When he heard it be refilled he sat up and took another drink. How long had America been playing now? Quite awhile... He should probably check on his brother, especially since he went through the effort to buy him a drink and everything, but he didn't want to. He was content, well far from actually, to just sit here and enact the plan to drown his sorrows.

America slightly tilted his head to the side as he sat next to his older brother, staring at the man through concerned and confused eyes. Being as childish as he was, America really wasn't in understanding on what exactly was wrong with the fellow country. Was he ill? Well, he wasn't throwing up, nor did the man looked flushed or too pale. So, what was wrong with him then?

"...England..." America whispered quietly, unsure if his voice would make England feel worse. He stared curiously at him, softly sipping at his soda. Not wanting to make the moment awkward, he just randomly whispering the others name, America quickly added, with his signature smile, "Thanks for the soda, you're a great friend."

"Glad you think so," He said bitterly, his words slightly slurred. "Stupid yank, I do so much for you, and, and... Then you leave. I coulda' stopped you but I didn't. And I don't want to, because you piss me off. And... Gah, its not worth explaining to you, would just blow it off like a joke 'n not care, 'n, and..." He paused trying to actually form his thoughts. Taking a swig of his drink to find it empty he flagged down the bartender and said," Keep 'em coming... I'll pay at the end." The bartender just rolled his eyes with a bemused chuckle and fulfilled the request. England mumbled something unintelligible and rested his head down. "Stupid American Revolution, 4th of July. Yankee," Could be heard as England continued to mumble.

America blinked and tilted his head again, taking another sip of his soda. He didn't look too bothered by the words from England, and his voice really didn't show it either when he sighed and laughed, commenting on how drunk his friend was quickly becoming. That was one of the reasons he never drank much; well, probably that and the fact that last time he did, he left quite a mess over at France's house the last time they all had a country get-together. Wasn't pretty.

"The revolution? Is that why you're so angry?" America chuckled to himself, he never thinking to deeply about the day since it actually happened. Shouldn't his brother really be happy for him, as he got his independence and freedom that day? Eh. America was too simple minded to really get anymore deep thoughted for it, so he simply shrugged. "It's been more than a century since then England, it shouldn't matter much anymore."

"Toldja' don' care. Its fun and games and joy and rubbish. Complete rubbish," He snapped. He mimicked America," Over a century England, shouldn't matter anymore." The attempted American accent was a failure, and he didn't quite get the words right, but he didn't really care at the moment. "But you don't get it. Don't bloody get anything. Happy we separated..." Well the last part was a lie, but oh well. Wasn't like it truly mattered. They were independent now, and like America happily pointed out, they shouldn't care anymore.

For once, America was genuinely silent, his mind actually processing deep though for a change. He blinked once, twice, still staring at his drunken friend. "..." The country sighed with a grin-less, but frown-less expression. With another sip of his soda, the country slowly pushed the then empty drink to the front of the counter, shaking his head when the bartender asked if he wanted a refill. At the rate things were going, America was sure that England didn't want to pay for so much. America sighed and thought, for once. England really did a lot for him, now that the country remembered, an awful lot. As the many thoughts, some new, others familiar and old, passed through the young country's mind, his eyes continued to peer over at

his older brother, watching as he guzzled down yet another strong drink.

" 'N yer so apathetic, probababibly don' even know the word, so who cares? 'Alf-witted, senseless, lame brained, gormless, inept... where was I going with that...? Stupid yank. That's all I know. And-" His tone quickly changed from angry to gratuitous as the bartender refilled his glass," Thanks mate. You're a real chum, unlike 'im right there..." His tone darkened again," Never formed a group of colonies to overthrow me. Never took my protection until strong enough to stab me in the back... And you know the real kicker? Hah! I'm in love with the bleeder! Its so fucked up..." He looked over at America, realizing that he just said that right in front of him and processed things for a second then shrugged. He didn't care if America knew, maybe the blighter would feel worse. That might make himself feel better, England reflected.

America was just about to open up his mouth to respond to all of England's quite nasty choice of words towards him, but suddenly stopped in mid word upon hearing the last sentence from his brother. "...love?" Had America been a little smarter, he might have been able to really put 2 and 2 together and understand the seriousness of what England had just said. Instead, the young country was far more confused, his innocent eyes staring at his drunk friend, hoping to get the explanation that he really was never going to receive from him. "...?"

England grew quite and sipped some more of his drink. His cheeks were flushed from so much alcohol and his vision was mucky and going a little double, but he could see America's innocent, questioning look plain as day. He sent a furtive glance at America, and then nodded. "Yeah, I guess... Don' know why..." Crumbling over onto the counter he tried to get control of his thoughts. Half of him was screaming,' You bloody MORON!' the other half was sighing,' THANK god you _finally_ said something.' "I hate you... You confuse everything." He almost added on _Why the hell do I love you?_ but stopped himself just in time. Maybe if America got drunk, he would forget the one time he said- dammit, America wasn't even drinking! England gave up hope with a sigh.

America was silent as he allowed his thoughts to roam freely in his mind, unperturbed by anything else. As the country thought, he started to realize how much he probably hadn't really known about England, and this had to be one of the toppers of the cake. The country sighed and turned his eyes to again stare at his friend, thinking about his words very carefully. Was he just saying that because he was drunk? Sadly, America came to rationalize his brother's words and actions for that reason. There would be no way that he could really feel anything for little, immature, selfloving America.

Said country slowly put a hand to the other's shoulder, rubbing it lightly as he spoke, barely above a whisper. "...I think it's time we both head home..." There was little emotion in his voice, his mind simply too muddled in his confusing thoughts to allow any through.

"I'm pretty legless right now, so unless you plan to carry me," He slurred then quickly added," I don't want you to carry me, by the way." He got out his wallet and stared it down trying to do the math in his head. How much did he owe...?

"£24.50 a tad under the usual," the bartender commented, rounding down for the poor lad's convenience. He knew something was odd about the guy, he had been coming since 1962 and didn't look a day over the age they first met, and had come to understand that poor Arthur needed a break. Who wanted to live forever?

"Mmm, thanks..." England left a twenty and five for banknotes to pay with and like he always did at this bar, said," Keep the change." The Winchester treated him pretty well, and the bartender knew enough about him to seriously mess with the nations, but chose to say nothing about it. He didn't mind over paying once in an every time. England tried to stand up, but slipped and just barely managed to pull himself to the counter so he didn't fall. "Bloody hell..."

America frowned and sighed, quickly jumping off his chair to grab England and pull one of his arms around his shoulder. With a small smile the country helped keep his brother standing, already pulling him out the pub.

"...Really England, you shouldn't get so drunk all the time. You might start saying things you'll regret or don't mean..." America whispered, almost to himself as he and England walked/limped down the sidewalk, heading back to the country's home. He had decided to take none of his words to heart; it would only crush his hopes, as always. America always had a great connection to England, one far stronger for him than that he knew applied for other countries in a similar situation. His fondness for his brother was highly unusual, and more than likely, unreciprocated. England was simply drunk; he didn't mean what he said, after all. "..."

"Never regret... 'Cept that one time... and meant it all," England replied, trying but failing to land his feet on the ground before they were expected to be moving again. He couldn't really make out where the ground stopped and his feet started, so looking down helped none. "Why doya' 'ave to be taller...? It's not fair. I'm older." His disheveled mind tried to make sense of all the things that he wanted to stay, but that was the easiest complaint, so he went with it. Not much else was even to decodeable to his muddled mind. He had drank how much...? England tensed and grabbed his brother tightly as he tripped on something, almost sending them both falling to the ground. Thank god for his brother's super human strength, but what he ended up saying was," 'N yer bloody super strength. Almos' trip 'n you catch me all condescendinged and snarky 'cause you can 'n..." whatever he ended up mumbling after that was too unintelligible for even him, the speaker, to understand.

America blinked his eyes, his large innocent eyes, as he tried to make sense of all the senseless ramble that his older brother was spouting off. With both arms he held up England, the position of the two that of a half awkward embrace. He stared down at him for a few seconds, blinking and in some sort of deep thought, a rare thing for America. "Brother, you really are drunk," He started, feeling a crushed sense hope resurface again from England's words in the pub, and his own rationalizing of them. "So drunk I wouldn't be surprised if you wind up forgetting everythi-" Wait. Drunk. Really, really, drunk. D-R-U-N-K. Hmm...America felt a creeping thought enter his mind. This could be his only chance. This was the drunkest he'd ever seen his brother, and with any luck, all of this would be forgotten the next day, driven out with bouts of a hangover.

"Absolutely 'ammered..." He rested his head against America, trying to help his vertigo. "Mmm... 'Merica I really meant everything... You're a pain in the arse but I might care, sorta' about you, partially. Can't 'elp it, even though you fought for inadependenence. Why is that word so bloody 'ard to say drunk?" The fog clouded his mind but left America visible. "Heh, ironic..." His sole purpose for slamming that much liquor was to specifically blind him from depression based on his old colony.

There was silence from the american. Simple silence. Partially it was due to his hesitation, partially because he wanted to hear more of what England had to say. Did he really mean it? Truly? The younger slowly blinked, still starting down at his brother, when he suddenly pushed his head forwards, crashing his lips onto England's own. The entire experience only lasted three seconds at best, America trying to savor the taste of his fellow country before he knew he was going to be rejected and pushed away; he just knew it was going to happen, regardless of what the other had just said. He was drunk after all, he didn't know what he was saying.

England looked up at America, confusion taking hold of his mind. Had America just...? He rested his head against the other, muttering," But oh, shipmates... on the starboard 'and of every woe... there is sure ...delight... and 'igher the top of that... Hmmm I can't remember anymore..." It was quiet for a second before England whispered," It- It's not like I like like you, I just... I don't know..." He held on tighter, afraid his dream come true was really just that, a dream.

America slowly pulled his face farther away from England. There it was, right there. He was out-of-his-mind drunk, yet the country still had the just enough of his sobriety left to reject him. The young country wasn't surprised, as he really had already knew something like that was going to come off from it, whether England was drunk or not. "...I see," He whispered, letting his arms go limp around his friend's shorter frame. America adverted his eyes away from the other, staring through his small glasses at another part of the road that had suddenly caught every sliver of his undying interest.

"... Didn't catch my quote... stupid yank," England mumbled. "Woe... and delight... they be in every 'and... and... You're asking me to think too much..." Dammit, it were times like these England wished he was better at just admitting how he actually felt... " 'Merica... I... I don't..." Not that he was going anywhere particularly fast, but he was cut off by almost falling, his vertigo getting the better of him. If America wasn't practically made of iron, his death grip would have probably crushed the other. "St-standing is dangerous... Don't even 'ave to walk 'n tripping and... Hate vertigo... 'nnoying..."

America smiled a tiny but bitter smile, his mind trying to make sense of all the drunken slurs his brother was trying to get across, one way or another. When he felt the shorter fall, his arms instinctively held on tighter, keeping him pressed against his own body to keep England from falling onto the hard ground. Damn being drunk and not being able to stand up straight. Especially when it makes his

face...so...close. America felt the other's hot breath on his neck, watched as he saw England's eyes blink and stare, the pair of orbs seeming impossibly close to his own. So close. Maybe, if he could only move a little closer, his lips inching just a little bit...

Quickly, America shook his head. Drunk. He's drunk, and doesn't know what he's all saying. Hell, America didn't understand half of what he was saying anyways. "Here, this should keep you from falling over so much," He said in an almost whisper. With a firm but curt sigh, the younger country quickly pulled England around and huffed him onto his back, holding on firmly, but gently to his legs. Keeping the other country in an almost awkward piggy back, America sighed again. "Hold on to my neck. I don't want you falling backwards."

"Like I would fall backwa-" He suddenly clamped his arms around the others neck, having almost done exactly what he was warned would happen. " 'N I told you, don' wan'to be carried evenifIdo and... and... you blighter, makin' me 'ave'ta hold on 'n... I don't... 'ave a clue whutI'mSaying... and stupid yank, confuzing me..." England rested his chin against America's neck, to tired to hold his head high on his own power, and began to ramble some more. " Do'ya know why...? Why I don' 'ate ya'? 'Cause I don' 'n you should fill me in... 'Cause it's all yer fault and... trickery... Stupid yank doin' on purpose..." He stopped his ranting even more confused and let his gaze fall on his brother.

"All I'm doin' is affronting you... and yer still 'elping me even though I'm insulting you... Why? You could just 'ave left me in the bar... left and I dunno, but not lissen to me yap... but you're goin' outa' yer way... You don' 'ave to be a 'ero to me... mm'not worth it..." God, his diction was getting worse by the minute, soon it would be bad enough he might as well be American... That was a scary thought. But not as frightening as the looming thought that was bubbling under the fog in his mind. _What if I don't push him away? _What if he didn't? He wasn't ready, probably never would be, for a relationship. If he was completely honest with himself, he was kind of almost afraid that he wouldn't push him away... He wanted to, but yet, he also wanted to give up the struggle and just accept he might possibly have feelings for him... Gah, if he couldn't even make sense of it in his mind, how the bloody hell would he manage to in life?

"...You're my friend, Arthur, and I care about you; that's why I did everything..." Alfred whispered silently, keeping his grip on the other as he plodded along the sidewalk, it being so late that there were almost absolutely no people in the streets; everything. Whether the other wanted to include that uncalled for kiss part of

that 'everything' was up to him.

But America cared, truly and greatly did he care for his brother. Childish as he was, never bothering to look past the forefront of things, get over his own ego, or proclaim that he could actually be wrong once in a while, his older brother still stuck around him. Amazing that he did; the younger country was actually surprised that he hadn't cussed him out yet. After all, in some ways, America could say he deserved it. The revolution was never something that crossed his mind often, time making it merely a ghost in his mind, but when it did, it was deep. It was evident though that his older brother thought it far more often.

"I do everything because I care for you..." _in more ways than one... _he sighed, allowing his voice to trail off as he grew deeper in thought. Aw, what should England care anyways; he would be too drunk to remember any of this after all, and America would be lucky if the alcohol would erase the memory of that one blissful, bittersweet kiss they had shared only moments ago. The young country wouldn't be shocked to find that England was going to hate his guts the next day when his rational mind would returned because of what he had done.

"If you care... 'bout me, 'nen you 'old me 'n... I di'n' quite figure all'a what I plan to say yet... Gimme a second..." England felt drowsiness overtaking his mind, but pushed through to try and formulate his thoughts. Why did everything have to be so damn confusing? " 'Merica, I'm sorry... Jus' been ina maze y' know 'n it's muddled 'n uggh, I 'ave no clue what'm saying... and... I think what'm tryin'ta say is'at I might kinda' be'ttached t'ya, y' know devotion... fondness, 'ffection..." How many words could he come up with to dodge the dreaded 'L' word? apparently a lot, but his hammered mind couldn't find anymore.

England snuggled (but if anyone asked, it was definitely just getting a better grip. not to be confused with Luh-...) even closer to America's neck and let out a soft 'humm' sound. "Y' know, you smell nice... n-not that I- I'm not..." His shoulders tensed and stumbled over more I's and not's then dropped it. Curse his inability to think while drunk!

America stopped walking for a second, his ears content with simply listening to his older brother's rambling, mumbling more and more in an incoherent speech of sorts. Soon he heard the voice quiet down, trailing off when he started to stumble over even the most simple of words. He felt Arthur nuzzle into the back of his neck, feeling his soft skin against his own, nearly making the younger country shiver in what he would call as a guilty delight.

"..." He was silent as he merely held up his fellow country, silent, unmoving, thinking. Then, without much of a warning, America let go of one of England's legs, causing him to half-fall, half-slide off his back; but Alfred was quick, and turned around fast enough to catch the country before he ungracefully fell to the ground. "...I hope you forget this tomorrow; and if you don't, I'm sorry, Arthur," America hastily whispered, his lips barely touching the other's ear, his breath warm and moist against cold skin. Then, as if synced in a perfect motion, the younger man pulled his lips back just enough so he could look deep into England's eyes, and then with a release of many years of held-back force, he crashed his lips into his brother's for the second time that night. Hell, maybe America was even drunk off of life, acting foolish enough to kiss England, twice, and think he could get away without the other disowning him as a friend and never wanting to speak to him again. But that thought and worry eluded the childish nation, he only wanting to taste the other one last time while the getting was still good, while he was still drunk enough to forget all this. His lips moved in a passionate and colorful harmony against the other, one of his hands quickly burying itself in England's short, golden locks to keep his head there, if only for a few seconds before his drunken stupor would make him react and reject him again. If England was going to forever hate him after this, America just hoped that the kiss would be enough for him, to sate the growing feelings he had for his brother for so long, hidden by his constant childish behavior and innocent rantings.

"..." England pulled away and looked at America confused for the much more-then-second time that day. His lips fumbled as he tried to find words to explain how he was feeling. Dammit why did English have to be so lacking in ways to say 'I love you'? Maybe not as bad as German, but akljsdlsdfkj he'd use french, _thank god France wasn't in earshot_! "Je t'aime, imbécile." Sure, speaking french while drunk resulted in perfectly understandable words. At least he was able to admit his feelings _without_ out right saying them. Plus, America might not even pick up what he said, bonus.

He roughly, though being as gentle as possible while being so drunk you couldn't stand on your own power, grabbed a fistful of America's hair in each hand and pulled him into a kiss. It was brief, but powerful. He clumsily withdrew, shakily lowering his grasp to around America's neck, holding on for dear life. "Don' realize I... 'n what'm sayin'... and..." His grip loosened as he leaned against America and blinked a few times. Wow, his vision was getting _really_... really, it was... dark.

America blinked, not once, but twice, watching as his brother passed out right in front of him, the alcohol finally proving too much for his body to consciously handle. He could only watch as his brother started to take deeper breaths, proving that he indeed was knocked out cold.

"...Arthur..." He whispered, wondering if what just happened, really was what just happened. Was it him, or was his actions actions actually reciprocated? He had definitely felt it; England's strong grip in his hair, pulling him in, crashing their lips together in a drunk but passionate kiss. Giving himself little time to think any further along those lines of thought, America swiftly pulled his brother onto his back again, this time keeping a stronger grip to make up for the lack of one from the other, and quickly made his way back to the other's home, hoping all the way there that for once, the last action from Arthur had been from the heart, and not the ale.

* * *

><p>Rubbing his eyes, England wondered aloud," How the hell did I get here?" He was in his house, but surely he had passed out last night, so shouldn't he still be at the Winchester? He mumbled something to the affect of 'Oh yeah, America walked me home' as he sat up. Thinking about America made him blush, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he was sure something went down last night...<p>

He could smell coffee brewing in the other room, _of course it was coffee, stupid yank_, so he assumed America was still here. He laid back down, trying not to jostle his pounding headache. The hangover made thinking further about last night too cumbersome, so he merely tried to relax and think about nothing. Of course that failed and he wound up trying to remember last night. The last thing that was clear in his mind was handing off a few coins so his brother could play pinball. Everything else was a blur, increasingly obscured by alcohol the further his mind traveled from pinball. He could remember Walter saying '£24.50'... plus three previous drinks, bloody hell, no wonder he couldn't remember anything.

America sat to himself, a small mug of coffee warm in his hands. He hoped, eyes peering at the clock to find that it was almost noon, that England would soon wake up. Knowing how much he had consumed, the younger was sure that his brother was going to have a mind-splitting headache. After another sip of the dark drink, Alfred sighed, listening to only the soft ticking of the nearby clock, and remaining silence around him. With another off-handed thought, on the bright side, England was most likely going to forget everything, and it would all go back to normal. The two of them. Only friends. Normal, sadly.

He should probably get out of bed, though curling up in the blankets, England acknowledged he'd rather do anything but. Pushing away the desire to sleep away the rest of the day, England sat up again, trying to will himself out of bed. He had to at some point, he reasoned, and quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, crawled out of bed. The vertigo that accompanied standing up almost knocked him back over, but he willed himself to stay standing. Then was sent sprawling for the bathroom as nausea took hold and emptying his stomach.

He collapsed to the ground, thankful he had made it to the toilet in time, and leaned against the wall behind him. "Uugh... Shouldn't drink so much..." He looked down to see he was reduced to his undershirt and boxers, well at least he hadn't slept in his suit, that would have been uncomfortable and bad for the suit. He made a note in his mind to thank America, but admitted to himself that he probably wouldn't.

America perked up when he heard a loud bang coming from the floor above him, and turned his eyes towards the stairs. Thinking that England was already up, and throwing up, Alfred placed his mug of coffee on the table in front of him, stood up, and made his way to the stairway.

"England? Are you awake?" He called curiously from the bottom step. Ouch, bad idea to shout, moreso if his brother had a really bad hangover. Not wanting to shout again and make things even worse for the guy, America started to climb up the stairs, careful to be as quiet a possible. What if England wasn't awake? Ouch, strike two if that was true, then Alfred would not be starting off the day very well. After a few seconds of semi-thought, he made it through the hall to his brother's room.

"Arthur, are you awake?" He asked lightly, rapping his knuckles softly on the wooden door.

"Yes, you git," Came the coarse reply from the bathroom that linked to England's bedroom. England sat on the cold tile floor debating what to do about America. His brother was genuinely concerned, England knew that, so he decided to let him in. "Come in... quietly..." He added on the last part as a bolt of pain jolted through his head. His head spun, threatening his stomach with another bout of vomiting, as he turned his head towards the door. England just hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt. Though considering feverish chills ran down his back and he couldn't even keep his eyes open, both from how bloody tired he was and from sensitivity to the ligh- well more like dark, England doubted he could pull off 'feeling fine'.

With gentle hands, the man slowly opened the door, being extra careful when he walked in to avoid that one creaky plank of wood on the floor that was right in front of it, and quietly made his way to where the bathroom was. With a worried expression, America appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, eyes staring at the back of England's form, asking silently if he was alright.

"Would you like me to get you anything, brother?" the man asked, softly, his voice a soft whisper so he wouldn't cause the other any further pain.

"Water," England croaked, his throat dry and crackly," Lot's of water." Though America's voice sounded like it was echoing through a bullhorn, England appreciated the softness it actually had, unfortunately, he knew how loud his voice sounded when _not_ in a whisper. England delved into his short term memory trying to remember all that happened last night. He knew without a doubt he had insulted America repeatedly, but it felt like there was something more.

_"... And you know the real kicker? Hah! I'm in love with the bleeder! Its so fucked up..."_

England tensed and nearly had a panic attack, the sudden reaction causing his stomach to get upset again. After another purging session England tried to catch his breath, fearing how much he'd said. He had said that to... Walter, England relaxed for a second, then recalled America had been sitting right next to him. Had he gone any further? Dammit, he hated the affects of alcohol sometimes. Hopefully he had stopped at mentioning he loved him once, he could hand wave it as being drunk, which he most certainly had been.

America smiled bitterly, it quickly turning into a grimace when England purged out his insides again. "Alright brother, I'll be right back," Alfred said quickly, turning on his heels and running, making quick time as he rushed down to the kitchen to grab a cold bottle of water. Just as he was about to run back to England, the younger man grabbed another bottle, just in case; after all, Arthur said he needed LOTS of water. With a determined look on his face, America concerned for his older brother, he quickly rushed back up the stairs and back into the bathroom, an arm holding out a cold bottle of water.

"Here Arthur," he spoke quietly, kneeling down next to the other. "How are you holding up?" Though the answer should have been obvious, America still felt obliged to ask the poor guy. A silent relief seemed to wash over America as he stared at England; luckily, it seemed like he remembered nothing from last night, or at least, none of the embarrassing things.

"... What did I all say last night?" He asked, ignoring the obvious answer he should given first. England gratefully took a bottle of water and drained it quickly. Getting some water into his system alleviated some of the discomfort, especially where his head ache was concerned, but he still felt horrendous. He squinted, there was no way he could fully open his eyes with how hypersensitive they were right now, over at his brother, his blood running cold at the hesitant look on America's face. PLEASE be insults, please be insults, please be insults... "You can just say it, I know I can get a little vicious while drunk..."

America froze. His blood ran like ice, chilled down to the core. What was he supposed to say? Tell him what really went down? No. Surely he couldn't. Lie. Yes, lie, that would make things better. After all, seeing how bad England was now, just bringing up the fact of alll the happenings from last night would only make him feel that much more worse. And besides, there wasn't that many things wrong that he really said, and since they were actions, he really didn't even have to tell his brother, right?

"Um...well, you said a lot of insults, spoke quite a bit with the bartender...and..." America gulped and froze, looking straight at his older brother. Should he tempt fate? Should he plod onto forbidden grounds and have a taste of the forsaken fruit? "...you also said that...that you loved me..." there it was, out in the open, ready to be cut up and bloodied by ruthless rejections of 'oh i was just drunk' or 'i actually didn't mean it at all'. America averted his eyes and frowned.

"Well, fuck..." England curled up into the corner, covering his face. he was too hungover to say much more than that, but a million thoughts were tearing through his muddled mind. America seemed awfully reluctant to say so and had a melancholy tone to his voice. England came to the conclusion that either America was repulsed by the idea, which had always been a major reason England never pursued a relationship, or he had then followed up with complete rejection if America had shown any romantic interest, his default reaction to most relationships.

Regardless of which it was, he was thoroughly humiliated and tried to take up as little space as possible. He felt cornered by guilt and could barely move to try and run away. Why did he have to get smashed while America was around? That was about as bad of an idea as asking France for advice. His headache worsened considerably as he thought about the one line that he could remember. Dammit, why did he say anything?

America frowned again to himself as he heard England's response. Oh hell, now he was going to get it. Another rejection, a complete repeat of last night. So deep in his own disparaging thoughts, darkly clouded in depression, America started to stand up and leave. Then, he heard it. A small noise, just an utterance. It wasn't even really a word or sentence, just a little noise. Al turned his head slightly to finally look at his older brother and suddenly felt crushed inside. His brother looked so...pathetic, so sad, like a small child that had been beaten. With a quick, almost instinctual and caring movement, America quickly kneeled back down and pulled England close to him. It didn't matter if he was going to be pushed away, be called a freak, be rejected. He just wanted to let Arthur know how much he cared, allow his embracing arms to give off all the warmth that his heart called out for the other's almost every day.

"Arthur, shhh, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I did...I, i..." America started to babble, thinking that everything that England was so upset about was the kiss that he had forced upon him. Twice. The younger started to mumble, almost plead for any sort of forgiveness. "I'm so sorry brother...I just, I felt...I didn't mean to kiss you, I just..." He couldn't continue, the country starting to trip over even the simplest of words.

"Wait, we _what_? K-kiss? W-we kissed?" England sputtered, pulling away from America. He was slightly surprised he was able to get out his brother's embrace so easily but didn't take time to think about it as he pushed passed him made a run for it. He peeled off his shirt and quickly found a new one and scrambled to find jeans. His head spun like a carousel, and burned like a bonfire but that didn't matter. He was trapped, needed to get out. America would forget by next week, right? England didn't know what to do in a serious relationship, afraid to mess up.

Running a hand through his hair and deciding it was good enough, he headed for the door, but then stopped as he looked back at America. He looked heart broken... "America..." He stood there, wondering what he should do, suffering from a hangover and starting to rapidly recall last night. "I- I'm sorry, this is all my fault."

America, whom was barely standing up, depending completely on the doorframe of the bathroom for help, stared back at his older brother. His heart was broken in two, aching painfully with each beat, bleeding out more and more with each breath. No...no, he didn't want to lose England, no, no please!

"No it's not your fault!" America called out suddenly, almost to the point of tears from how much rejection he had to deal with in the past 24 hours. "I'm sorry, I forced the kiss on you; I didn't know what else to do...yo-you said you loved me and...and-Oh god I'm so sorry England..." America held a hand over his face so his brother wouldn't see him, he just wouldn't allow it to happen. Slowly he slid down the doorframe, soon reaching the floor, hands still over his face. Oh god no, he was remembering everything; it was just a matter of time before he started to call him a 'freak', toss him out of the house, and never speak to him again. Why did everything have to turn out just so wrong?

_Because you just HAD to kiss him, you idiot._ the american's mind told him. Yes. It was all his own fault. "...Please don't go, England...I'm sorry I'm such a freak, I'm so sorry that...that I love you too...I understand you didn't mean that, you were drunk, and It's just...just, oh dear god I'm so sorry." His world felt like it was crashing down on him. It was like the American Revolution all over again, only this time, there was a very differnt battle going on, but with all the bloodshed. All the dreaded, _emotional_, tearing bloodshed. Al would rather have the Revolution than this any day.

England awkwardly walked back over to America, it being his turn to kneel and embrace the other. "You're not a freak... I'm glad we kissed, well actually pretty panicked, but that's just because, I don't want to mess up... I don't want to hurt you..." He held the other tightly, afraid to let go. What if America decided that he was too much work and left? England went over the series of events from last night, still terribly obscured from the alcohol, but largely unscathed.

With a sigh, England said," Geez, I can't believe I went through the effort of quoting one of _your_ best authors and you didn't understand the meaning. 'But oh! shipmates! O the starboard hand of every woe, there is sure delight; and higher the top of that delight, than the bottom of the woe is deep.' From Moby Dick, written by Herman Melville... You know, I had just been saying you caused me woe, but then... delight... you know, oh, never mind, it doesn't matter." England cut off flustered, feeling a little exposed by how much emotional rubbish he was spouting.

America was about to sob loudly in his regret when he suddenly felt the warm and firm arms of England wrap around him, almost seem to sooth away his terrors and pain. So warm. The last time that America had ever felt an embrace to loving was when he was a small child, being held closely by his older brother after being particularly frightened by a strong storm. And then, again now, he was feeling that same warmth and love, but this time, it was something more, something different.

"H-hurt me?" The american inquired, his face happily buried in England's shoulder, nuzzling against him in an almost mirroring that he used to do as a child. "England..." he couldn't really find the right words for everything he was feeling; hell, America couldn't tell if what he was feeling was good or bad for that matter. "B-brother..." America pushed himself closer to his older country, wanting to know for sure that this wasn't a dream, a stupid and foolish dream that his mind wanted to taunt him with after he had fallen asleep watching over the passed out englishman. Please god, don't let this be a dream. America hiccuped lightly in his wave of emotions, not hearing that he said random snippets of his thoughts aloud.

England was quiet, sharing the same dilemma as America. How did he exactly explain how he was feeling with words? Listening to what America was whispering, _...Last time I felt a hug this loving was as a small child, remember that storm?_ and _...please don't be a dream..._ England felt a little more confident in hugging America. It was what the other wanted, right? Maybe there would be a happy ending for him. He relaxed next to America, sitting in a way that wouldn't disturb their embrace, and hummed an old tune that he used to back when America was still his colony. Maybe, just maybe, there really would be a happy ending.


End file.
